


Succulents and Sentiment

by PenguinofProse



Series: S4 Time Jump AUs [20]
Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Episode AU: s04e13 Praimfaya, Episode: s04e13 Praimfaya - Time Jump, F/M, Romantic potted plant gifts, secondary character death, survivor's guilt
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-29
Updated: 2020-11-29
Packaged: 2021-03-10 04:27:17
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 19,440
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27778360
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PenguinofProse/pseuds/PenguinofProse
Summary: Time jump AU. Clarke and Bellamy live in the bunker and struggle with survivor's guilt.
Relationships: Bellamy Blake/Clarke Griffin
Series: S4 Time Jump AUs [20]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1764070
Comments: 17
Kudos: 138





	Succulents and Sentiment

**Author's Note:**

> This is a time jump AU featuring a succulent and lots of feelings. Because of course it is. We're picking up the day after the list scene. Huge thanks to Stormkpr for betaing this. Happy reading!
> 
> Content note: depression, anxiety, suicidal thoughts, insomnia, bereavement and secondary character death.

Bellamy knows he's a sentimental fool.

He's known that for _years_ , in fact. It's no coincidence that he kept hold of his sister's hair ribbon when she was arrested, or that he still marks his mother's birthday with a silent prayer, or that he walked across that battlefield to save Clarke. He's got a well-testified tendency to behave foolishly, when he lets his emotions lead the way.

Sometimes that leads him to act dangerously. But today? Today he's just being stupid.

Clarke doesn't need a houseplant. He knows this. The world is due to go up in flames inside of a couple of months, so she doesn't need a houseplant _at all_. What she needs is a plan, and support, and an occasional hug.

But damn it, he really wants to get her a houseplant.

He knows that's daft. _Beyond_ daft. But she seemed so sad last night, when she was working on that list, as well as the concerning fact that she couldn't even write her own name down. And he's read his old Earth literature, watched a few movies, so he knows that in case of sadness, it's traditional to buy one's partner flowers.

Clarke's not his partner, of course. He should probably remember that. But he doesn't see why he can't get her flowers all the same. Or not even flowers – just a plant. Just a small, green plant.

He blames Niylah. Damn Niylah for having so many plants here outside her trading post. Most of them are obviously useful – small fruit trees, berry canes, or medicinal plants he recognises from Earth Skills. But some of them are either purely ornamental, or else he simply cannot identify them.

Screw it. He's getting Clarke a houseplant. She was sad and low last night, and she deserves a little plant to brighten her day.

He picks a small, dark green, unobtrusive sort of a pot plant which seems to have large, rubbery leaves. Or not leaves so much as stalky things, thick and slightly pointed. He knows nothing at all about plants beyond the basics from Earth Skills, so he hopes this will do the job. It's the thought that counts, right?

With that resolved, he takes it to Niylah.

"I'll give you a T shirt for this." He offers, discomfort making him brusque.

She frowns. "A T shirt?"

"Yeah. It's all I've got on me to trade." He sets the plant on the counter, starts shucking his jacket, goes to tug his T shirt up from his hips.

"Stop. Stop." Niylah bids him, laughing – but not unkindly, he thinks. "Take it, Bellamy. Any friend of Clarke's is a friend of mine. I'm happy to do you a favour – you don't have to go home shirtless."

He frowns, disappointed. Does it still count as a gift, if he doesn't give anything up to acquire it? If it costs him nothing, does it have any value?

"I tell you what, you can owe me." Niylah offers brightly. "When we've survived Praimfaya, you can owe me a morning helping out round here. Helping me rebuild the place and putting it back to rights."

He nods. That's acceptable. He can owe Niylah a bit of heavy lifting. He reaches his hand out, shakes on the deal.

Then a question occurs to him that he should probably have asked sooner, before his excitement ran away with him. You see that? _Foolish_.

"Is this a – uh – good houseplant?" He asks, hands clasped at his hips as he shifts his weight nervously from foot to foot. "Is it easy to look after? Does it need special food or whatever?"

Niylah smiles gently. "I think you'll be OK. It shouldn't need watering more than once every couple of weeks. And it's difficult to kill."

He nods. That sounds good. He has a great deal of respect for Clarke's competence in many areas, but he suspects she's too preoccupied to care for a fussy plant.

He leaves Niylah's trading post with a rover full of dried meat and a potted plant he's very proud of. Hardy, resilient, low maintenance, but rather sweet – it sounds like a perfect fit for Clarke, he thinks.

…...

Clarke is there when he drives the rover back into the hangar bay. Huh. That seems to happen a lot, recently – almost like she's happy to see him come home at the end of each mission.

He tries not to make a big deal about the plant. He simply thrusts it into her hands when he hops out of the rover. That saves him reaching out to hug her, after all, and he's pretty sure a lot of impulsive hugging would look _silly_. So really the plant is already proving a good idea.

"Here. Got you this." He says briskly.

She frowns deeply, rotates the pot carefully in her hands. "What is it?" She asks.

He shrugs. "Don't know. Some kind of ornamental plant. Niylah says it won't take much looking after."

She frowns ever harder. "No, I mean – what _is_ it? Is this for agriculture? Or am I taking it to med bay for Jackson to experiment with? Who ordered it? Who asked you to pick it up?"

He laughs, claps her robustly on the shoulder. That seems a better idea than confessing his love against the soft skin of her neck, which he's pretty sure he'll end up doing any second now if he doesn't distract himself. It's just so _Clarke_ , to presume that the first nice thing anyone has done for her in months is actually a practical item of shopping destined for someone else.

"It's for you, Clarke. It's just decorative. I thought you could put it on your desk or something." He swallows. "Maybe it'll cheer you up next time you have a tough night like – like last night."

She looks up at him, sharp. "For me?"

He nods.

"You got a plant for _me_? To decorate my desk?"

He nods again. He swallows, gathers his courage. "Yeah. Just to remind you if I'm not there next time you have another tough choice to make that I'm still with you in spirit."

She doesn't laugh in his face – and nor does she run out of the room in a panic, which is honestly the reaction he was half expecting. Instead her awed gaze flickers between him, and the stupid little plant, and back again, as if she cannot quite believe her luck.

"Thank you." She whispers.

"Any time. You going to help me unload the rover or what?"

She nods, brisk, gets back to business.

Except that she does a pretty terrible job of helping him unload the rover, on this occasion. She simply refuses to put down her new plant, cradles it close to her chest with one hand even as she tries to help out with the other.

He's not complaining. He can't remember the last time he saw her so happy.

…...

"It's a succulent."

Those are the words Clarke chooses to greet him at breakfast the following morning. He nods, still sluggish from lack of sleep, and presumes she'll explain herself in time. She mostly does, in his experience. And if she doesn't? He supposes he'll just follow her anyway.

"That plant you got me." She clarifies. "It's a succulent. I borrowed some botany books from Jackson. You were right – it should be easy to take care of. And it won't need much water so it should survive Praimfaya when we've found our solution."

He chokes slightly on his porridge. He wonders who this optimist is, and what she's done with Clarke Griffin. Two days ago she was struggling to write a list of survivors and implied she had lost all hope, and now suddenly she thinks her little houseplant is going to survive the end of the world?

It's amazing the difference a cheerful gift can make, he muses. If he'd known how easy it would be to lift her spirits, he'd have started trying to show her he cares months ago.

"That's great. I didn't realise it would be so practical." He offers, rather pathetically, he fears.

"It's great." She echoes, beaming, digging into her porridge with enthusiasm.

"You like it then?" He curses almost the moment the question is out of his mouth. _Inane_. That was inane. He really wishes he was more functional in the mornings – he ought to have learnt to cope with a little tiredness by now.

"I love it." She beams. "Thank you. And – and it means a lot. What you said about always being with me in spirit."

He gulps. That sounded like some acknowledgement that they have a rather specific kind of a friendship, there. Should he push it? Should he say something about how much he cares about her, or -

"I'm keeping it on my desk like you suggested. So it can cheer me up. You want to stop by and see it later?"

He doesn't want to stop by and see a succulent, as it happens. He thinks it's a sweet little plant, but he has no very strong feelings about it.

But he does have rather strong feelings about Clarke, so he agrees without hesitation.

…...

He supposes the plant does look pretty cute on her desk. He thinks she looks cuter sitting behind the desk, though.

It's a precious bright spot, while the world is ending – for both of them, he likes to think. Clarke keeps her succulent in her office and he catches her looking up to smile at it every so often while he's sitting on her couch or pretending to nap, so that's something. But it's a bright spot for him, too. It makes him feel good, to know he can bring her that kind of unbridled joy in the middle of a disaster. And most of all he likes the way they always have something cheerful to talk about, now – if the news of the day is bad, he can at least ask after the plant over the breakfast table.

It might not be flowers, and she might not be his partner, but he thinks they're doing pretty damn well, considering the circumstances.

…...

She's hugging the plant on her lap when he starts driving her to the island to work on the nightblood solution, cradling it close when he watches her board the boat with Emori.

He thinks it's silly. It's frivolous. It's totally unnecessary, and it places sentiment over sense in a way he has never known Clarke to do before.

But it's also adorable, so he says nothing. He simply hugs her tight and sends her on her way.

…...

He finds her rather less adorable when she takes the bunker for Arkadia and locks the door on his sister. No, he has all sorts of other adjectives he would rather use on this occasion – monstrous, or heartless, or utterly reprehensible.

Those are adjectives he never dreamed of using about Clarke.

He can't believe it, when he stands in that office and Jaha says it was all her idea. He simply cannot wrap his head around it. And in this moment, all he can see is that damn succulent sitting proudly on the big desk in this cursed office. It's like his world, his whole focus, has narrowed to that one tiny spot of green.

He shakes his head. He's being stupid. The fact she's still clinging to a gift he gave her does not change the fact that she's a monster.

He lashes out, starts to fight. And the last thing he sees, as he feels the jolt of the shocklash burn through him, as his limbs collapse and his eyes roll back in his head?

That stupid little succulent, perched on her desk, taunting him.

…...

It turns out OK, more or less – or as OK as _anything_ has turned out, since he landed on this terrible, beautiful planet. At times like this it's all too easy to believe that Jasper was onto something, he thinks.

So yes, he gets the door open. No, Clarke does not shoot him. And somehow he avoids setting foot in that damn office again for the next few hours. He just cannot face it, while the memory of Clarke's betrayal is so fresh. He fears that crossing the threshold will bring it all flooding back, fears that seeing that houseplant will remind him of everything he thought they shared, but that she has proven means nothing to her.

No. Maybe it's not as bad as all that. She did choose not to shoot him when it came down to it. Maybe he isn't mad to think she cares after all.

He shakes himself. This is stupid. He shouldn't even _want_ her to care, if she's the kind of person who would betray the spirit of the conclave and lock his sister out so callously. He needs to refocus on the conversation at hand, some frantic discussion of priorities between leaders crowding in the atrium.

"Someone still needs to get Raven. I'd like to volunteer." He pipes up, because frankly he's bored of listening to Jaha rant.

"And I'll join you." Clarke offers, because of course she does.

His heart sinks. He doesn't _want_ her to volunteer, damn it. He wants her to stay here where she's safe, and allow him to get some space away from her to process everything that has happened into the bargain. He wants to just go drive the rover without worrying about her, for a few precious hours – without worrying either about her safety or about her poor choices.

"No. Someone else can go with him." Abby suggests urgently.

Of course, Clarke isn't having that. "Mum. Look, Raven needs our help. I know the way to the island. I need to do this."

Bellamy frowns, considering. If he knows Clarke half as well as he thinks he does, she needs to do this not just for Raven, but also for her own guilty conscience. She needs to do this to forgive herself for locking that door.

…...

Things move quickly. There isn't a moment to waste. They prepare themselves, acquire Murphy and Emori along the way.

"Take care of each other." Abby instructs him, as they are on the point of leaving.

He agrees, of course. No matter how angry he is, taking care of Clarke is a hard habit to break.

…...

Bellamy blames himself for the crash. Clarke was apologising to him, and he just had to go and look at her infuriatingly contrite face. He's always had an unfortunate habit of staring at her at the most inconvenient and even inappropriate of times – sentiment over sense, yet again, he seethes.

So now they're here, stranded, without a working rover. And battered and bruised, too, from the ensuing fight. Monty is on the way to pick them up, but Bellamy is watching the timer on his wrist tick down and reaching some pretty alarming conclusions.

"We don't have time to get there and back now." He mutters to Clarke, as they sit slumped together at the base of a tree.

She gives a shrug and a wet cough. It worries him. He wonders if the radiation is getting to her, nightblood or not, since she gave up her helmet.

"Clarke? We don't have time to get to the island and back." He repeats.

"I know." She snaps. "I'm working on it."

He frowns. It doesn't look like she's working on it. It looks like she's leaning on a tree to stay upright and trying not to vomit.

"We're running out of time." He repeats, aware that he's pushing too hard, but powerless to do anything else in his panic. "We have to get back to Polis before -"

"No." She interrupts him. "Listen. I think we should go to the island. There's a rocket there, and we know it's working – Raven was going to fly it to make the nightblood. And she's got enough fuel to take off, just not enough to land. So we take the rocket, we head to the Go-Sci Ring they left behind in space. And we ride out the radiation safely up there."

He blinks at her, stunned. She's come up with a lot of complicated plans in her time, but he thinks this one must win some sort of prize – for being the most desperate, if nothing else.

"That's insane, Clarke. We barely even have time to get to the island at this rate. And you realise how many things could go wrong with that plan? There's no way we make it."

"I trust Raven." She says simply.

He snorts. It's not that he _doesn't_ trust Raven. There's just no way he can see all of them making it safely to space. And if they do, then what? Live out the rest of their lives up there? Or pray that some more fuel magically materialises within the next five years?

It's a crazy, desperate plan. And he prefers a slightly more straightforward or even brute force approach, all things considered. There's a reason he blew up that tanker with the welding torch, back in Mount Weather.

"We should just go back to Polis." Bellamy suggests instead.

Clarke bristles. "We can't do that. We have to save Raven. And what about Monty and Harper and Murphy and Emori?"

He sighs. He thinks of what Abby said, her last order to them – to keep each other safe. And most of all he thinks of what Kane said in the black rain – that if he tried any stupid rescue mission, there would be three deaths instead of two. He's been trying to do a bit better at thinking things through, since he followed Pike so naively, so that's what he's working on now.

And the way he sees it, if they drive to the island, all eight of them die. But if they head back to Polis, at least some of them might live.

Sense over sentiment.

He spares a moment to note that such thinking is probably what spurred Clarke to lock that door on his sister. Huh. Maybe he understands her a little better, now. It's like their roles have been flipped slightly – like she's desperate to go save Raven for her own personal reasons, but he's the one trying to think rationally, here.

"Clarke. I know it's tough. But just think -"

He never gets to finish his sentence. Headlights flash through the trees, heralding Monty's arrival in the rover. And Clarke is struggling laboriously to her feet before the vehicle is even in sight, keen as always to get on with saving the day.

He sighs and follows her. Keeping this woman alive really is a challenge, sometimes. And he's worried about how heavily she's moving, thinks she might be sicker or more hurt than she's letting on.

There's no way he's letting her head to that island.

It just makes no sense. It goes against everything he's been trying to do better at, since Pike. And more than that, something deep in the pit of his belly recoils at the thought of willingly driving Clarke into danger. Sure, he was angry with her for locking that door earlier. But she's one of the two most important people in his world despite that, and he refuses to drive her to her death.

Meanwhile Monty is bringing the rover to a halt, hopping out to greet them warmly. Harper is jumping from the passenger side door with a smile.

Bellamy hesitates, just for a second. He looks one last time at the faces of his friends. He pulls the sleeping gas grenade from his hip.

_Eight deaths or six._

He takes a deep breath, and tosses the gas at Monty's feet.

It works quickly, thank goodness. Bellamy is not left to stand around and second-guess his decision for long. Monty and Harper crumple right away, Emori and Murphy just a little later. Clarke fights it for a few seconds, standing slightly further away from the centre of the cloud, but she too succumbs before long.

It's not until he finds himself surrounded by motionless bodies sprawled over the floor that it really hits Bellamy what he's done. He's condemned these people to death – his friends. And yes, sure, they were destined to die anyway and he's saved Clarke, but it's still utterly horrific.

He sinks to the floor, tries to figure out a plan. He wishes he could have Clarke awake to consult with right now, but of course he can't. Should he bother taking these unconscious bodies back to Polis? Is there any point? But it feels wrong to just leave his friends here to die in the woods.

He'll take them with him – even the ones who have no spot in the bunker. Perhaps Monty can take Raven's space, he wonders.

 _Raven_.

How the hell is he supposed to do this? How is he supposed to call Raven and explain to her that he's not coming for her after all? It's like Peter and the black rain all over again.

But one looks at Clarke's pale face, lined with worry even in sleep, tells him that it's the only choice.

…...

The drive back to Polis is the most grim experience of his life – and that's saying something, because Earth has not handed him an easy ride.

These people trusted him. Monty and Harper have trusted him since the dropship camp. Raven trusted him to rescue her. It's taken a long time for Murphy to grow to trust him, but they were finally getting there.

And this is how he repays them.

He forces himself to think of the good.

 _Eight deaths or six_.

 _Take care of each other_.

Most of all he thinks of Clarke's beaming face, the day he gave her that silly gift. He slightly resents her for forcing him to make this impossible choice alone, today. He supposes it is at least making him reconsider the anger he felt towards her earlier in the bunker – he can see how it feels, now, to be on this side of a difficult decision. And more than anything he reminds himself, over and over and over again, that this is the way he buys her a chance to smile again.

…...

It gets better when he arrives in Polis. There are things to do, action and distractions. All around him, the motionless bodies of people he knows from Arkadia lie scattered, while a small team seems to be carrying out the last of them.

Looks like he's not the only one living the worst day of his life, today.

Kane bustles over and slaps him bracingly on the back. Bellamy is grateful in this moment not to be asked any questions. He managed to get out a brief explanation over the radio on the way here, and now it seems Kane is keen to be as helpful as possible.

"Take Clarke inside." He suggests to Bellamy softly. "I'll get what we need from the rover."

Bellamy hesitates. He bites his lip, wonders how to phrase his next question.

"Is there any chance for the others?" He asks. "We – we don't have Raven." He swallows thickly. "So could we take one of them? Monty's an engineer."

Kane frowns slightly, eyes kind. "I'll see what we can do. Get Clarke inside."

Bellamy doesn't hesitate any further. He recalls Clarke's damp coughing earlier, looks down at her pale, clammy skin. She's not well at all, and he needs to get her to med bay.

…...

Clarke is seriously sick, it turns out.

Bellamy could probably have guessed that for himself. That's one of the reasons he was so determined to bring her safely back here. But Abby announces that her radiation sickness is bad and that there's not much she can do.

"Not much you can do?" Bellamy echoes. He knows it's not helpful to sound critical, now, when Abby is trying to care for her own daughter with tears in her eyes. But he needs Clarke to live, damn it.

"We'll give her some medication that might work, but it's probably too long since she was exposed. And then we'll – we'll make her comfortable."

He gulps. He knows what that means. That means _death_.

"Could you give her my blood?" He asks desperately. "Like in Mount Weather? Could that work?"

Abby shakes her head, weeping quietly.

"How about bone marrow? Or – or I don't know. She's a nightblood, isn't she?"

"We didn't get chance to test it." Abby points out.

Bellamy groans. He knows that. He knows that things look bad. But as long as Clarke's chest continues to rise and fall with breath he's determined to keep hoping. He needs to.

Otherwise he might start to think that he sacrificed their friends for nothing.

No. He knows he still made the right call. He knows he avoided eight deaths that day – and with Monty being selected for Raven's space, he's saved at least one of his friends.

But he just can't cope with the idea that Clarke might not make it. They've come a long way from her locking that door scarcely twenty-four hours ago.

"Can I stay with her?" He asks Abby, feeling really rather small.

She nods, eyes streaming. "Yes. Of course."

That's something, at least. He takes up a seat next to Clarke's bed and reaches for her hand, squeezes her fingers tight. He kind of wants to speak to her, but he's not sure he dares, while Abby is looking on. And besides which, he wouldn't know what to say, where to start with telling her everything that's on his mind in this moment.

Abby surprises him by taking a seat on the other side of the bed, reaching out for Clarke's other hand. Although he doesn't know Abby well, he's seen enough of her in the last eight months or so to have noticed that she isn't usually one for setting aside her duties as head doctor – not for anything, not even when she was Chancellor. So it scares him, now, to see her leave Jackson to set up med bay so she can sit with Clarke.

It makes him think that these really must be Clarke's last few hours.

"If you need to say anything to her, don't let me stop you." Abby says softly. "I won't be able to help overhearing but – but I understand."

He nods. He swallows thickly. He does want to speak to her, but he's still not quite sure what to say.

It doesn't much matter. That's what he decides, in the end. It's like that succulent all over again – it's not _what_ he gives her that matters, it's just the act of showing her he cares that's important. And he feels that the same holds true for his choice of words, now. That as long as she can sense his presence and hear him saying _something_ , that's all that matters.

He bends forward, leans in close to her ear.

"You need to fight this, Clarke, OK? You have to keep fighting. Keep breathing." He heaves in a shaky breath. "Be my brave Princess. Do that for me."

He's convinced she hears him. It's the silliest thing, but he could swear her hand twitches just a little beneath his fingers. He notes in passing that he finally seems to have admitted there's something special between him and Clarke, here. That now she's on her death bed, he's finally started to acknowledge that she's _his_ brave Princess, after all.

Better late than never, he supposes.

And it's with that thought – the burning fear that this might all be too little, too late – that he gives way to tears at last.

…...

She lives.

Miracle of miracles, she lives.

Bellamy thinks it might just be the first lucky break they've ever got on the ground.

He hopes that there might be wider good news than that, too. That it might mean the nightblood works and they could all have transfusions and go live above the ground. It would be too late to save most of his friends, sure. But Raven might still be clinging on in the lab, or there might be a couple of other miraculous survivors.

Abby shuts that idea right down. She tells him that Clarke was exposed to a relatively low dose, and that this does not constitute a successful nightblood test. And seeing as she's both a doctor and a former Chancellor, Bellamy finds that he cannot usefully argue with her.

So it is that he spends a great deal of time simply sitting by Clarke's bedside and waiting for her to recover.

He tries to remember to spend some time helping his sister to run this place. But his sister is alive and well, and Clarke is sick and narrowly escaping death, so he has to admit that he does not give Octavia very much of his attention. And more than that, she honestly doesn't seem to require much of his help. She claims that she is just holding things steady until Clarke is awake and he and Abby have stopped fussing over her, so they can all lead together.

Huh. If he didn't know better, he'd say his irrepressible little sister was scared.

Anyway, that's not his priority for now. He'll worry about that when Clarke wakes up. In the meantime, although she's clearly recovering, he's not yet ready to leave her bedside.

He stays put, and holds her hand, and sometimes naps, awkward and uncomfortable, slumped half-over the mattress at her side. He's always napped better in Clarke's presence than he sleeps in his own actual bed.

And most of all he talks to her. He reminds her that she's his brave Princess, and that he needs her to keep on breathing.

…...

He's been looking forward to her waking up for so long that it takes him by surprise when it happens. He's just sitting there, stroking her hand, dozing slightly. Or perhaps he's more awake than asleep, but either way his eyes are closed.

They open very suddenly when he hears her croaky voice.

"What happened? Where am I?" She sounds somewhere between annoyed and apprehensive, he thinks. It's a combination he's become all too familiar with, on Earth.

"Clarke? Thank God, Clarke. You're awake."

"Where am I?" She repeats. Right. Yes. He didn't actually answer her questions.

"You're in Polis. Thank God you're OK. I've been so -"

He stops talking very abruptly. Because she's just snatched her hand away, is glaring at him like he's ALIE sprung back to life.

"Why am I in Polis?" She bites out, carefully controlled.

"Because this is the bunker. You're safe." He says, trying for a soothing tone.

She bristles. "I knew it. I knew it when I saw you toss that gas. What have you done, Bellamy?"

He clenches his jaw, bites down hard on his tongue. _I saved you_ , he wants to say, but the taste of his own blood sharp in his mouth reminds him not to. She's clearly in no mood to hear that, right now.

"I made the right choice." He grinds out in the end.

She stiffens even further, shuffles away from him. "No. No. You didn't – you _can't_."

He nods, silent, teeth gritted. He did, as it happens. And as long as she lives he regrets nothing.

"You _killed_ them."

"Praimfaya killed them." He swallows thickly. Huh. Blood. "I had to turn back, Clarke. We'd all have died. Eight deaths or five – Monty lived. And you were sick, and I promised your mum I'd take care of you."

"You killed them for me." She mutters, tone strangely cold and empty.

"No -"

"You killed them for me. I didn't ask you to, Bellamy. I didn't ask you to kill them for me." She repeats, sobbing.

He frowns, not sure what to do. Normally he'd hug her in a situation like this. But he's not clear on what the protocol is if it's his fault she's weeping.

"Clarke -"

"You're wrong." She tells him, surprisingly robust for one crying so hard. "You say there would have been eight deaths, but you're wrong. I'd have done _anything_ to make sure that rocket took off safely and you all lived."

He swallows thickly. "I know. That's why I had to bring you back here."

She doesn't choose to acknowledge that. She just shakes her head, scattering tears against her limp med bay pillow.

Bellamy sighs. She's alive. That's what counts. And he knew in his heart of hearts that she'd be upset on waking up, that she'd blame herself and him for the deaths of their friends. He watched her fall apart after Mount Weather, stood on the opposite side of the conflict with Pike. He knows what it's like to be at odds with her.

She's still breathing. He clings to that, desperately, tries to hold together some semblance of composure as he gets to his feet.

"I'll go fetch your mum."

She doesn't choose to acknowledge that, either. The worst part is, he thinks he might have to get used to it.

…...

He leaves med bay and wanders aimlessly for a while. It's fine. Clarke's OK. He can cope with her being upset a lot more easily than he can cope with her being dead.

He wanders to his dorm, but that doesn't help. Miller and Jackson are making out on Jackson's bed and jump apart the moment Bellamy walks in. So he simply wishes them happiness and goes on his way. He can't bear to sit around and watch a happy love story, right now.

He tries his sister's office. But that's a terrible idea, because for some reason Clarke's damn succulent is still sitting on the desk there, looking improbably bright and perky. It feels like an affront, somehow, to see something so cheerful and lively in the middle of this sad grey bunker that somehow smells like death.

"Aren't you going to get rid of that?" Bellamy asks, sharp, nodding at the offending potted plant.

Octavia looks at him as if he's lost his mind. Maybe he has. Maybe that's what happens, now he's made one impossible choice too many, left people who trusted him out to die. Maybe that's the guilt eating away at him, slowly gnawing at his capacity for rational thought.

"Kane said it's Clarke's." Octavia says, frowning. "He said _you_ gave it to her. That it's special to her. I'm not about to throw it out."

"But why is it on _your_ desk?"

Octavia fixes him with a stern look. "Come on, big brother. We both know this isn't really my desk. As soon as she's out of med bay I'll be sharing it with her at best."

"She's not going to be like that." He defends her on instinct. "She knows she made the wrong call locking the door. She won't try to take over."

"You've misunderstood me. I don't mean I'm expecting a coup. I mean I'm going to _ask_ her to help me out – you too, of course. You both know what you're doing in a situation like this better than I do."

He shakes his head. "I'm not sure that's true, O. We don't always make the right choices."

"But you always choose with your heart in the right place, and that's better than I've always managed, since Lincoln." Octavia tells him firmly. "So I'm keeping the plant. And when she's well you can both get set up in here."

He nods stiffly. "She's awake now."

"Then why the hell are you here with me?"

"She's angry with me. She's upset that I made the choice to bring her back here."

Octavia shrugs. He almost wants to hit her for that, sister or not. She simply rolls her shoulders as if it's the most inconsequential thing in the world.

"Like I said – you made that choice with your heart in the right place. Sooner or later she'll see that."

He frowns. That sounds too easy for Clarke – she can be very stubborn, he knows. And it hasn't exactly cleared his head as he was hoping for, hasn't distracted him from that strained and tear-stained conversation in med bay.

He bids his sister farewell and keeps walking.

…...

He finds himself with Monty on the hydrofarm, eventually. It's not quite deliberate, but not an accident either. He's been feeling guilty about plucking Monty alone from Praimfaya, saving him and leaving Harper to die, and even worse about not checking in with his friend to see how he's coping. He's just been so focused on Clarke that he hasn't had a chance. He supposes Monty's reaction to seeing him might well be similar to hers – anger at being saved at the expense of people he cared about.

He finds Monty and approaches him tentatively where he stands tending to some unidentifiable seedlings.

"Hey Monty. How are you doing?" Bellamy asks softly, as if trying not to spook a wounded animal.

Monty looks up at him, eyes sad. "Not well. Farming helps." He says shortly.

"Right. Yes." Bellamy swallows. "I'm sorry, Monty."

Now Monty's eyes don't look sad as much as _sharp_. "What for, Bellamy? For saving me? Don't ever apologise for that."

"I'm sorry I saved you when I couldn't save the others. I'm sorry for – for making you live on without them."

Monty shakes his head. "That's not something to apologise for. I get it, Bellamy – another impossible choice. Like Mount Weather. I remember watching you that day and praying I never had to stand where you and Clarke were standing. So we're good, OK? I miss them." He swallows down a sob. "I miss Harper _so much_. But that's not your fault. You made the call, and I know you'll spend the rest of your life struggling with it. I don't want to add to that."

Bellamy nods, a little overwhelmed. He doesn't really know what to say.

"I'm trying to make something good out of it." Monty says sombrely. "At first I felt so guilty about surviving. But I figure if I can make it worthwhile that I lived, if I can do good work here and feed people – then I don't have to feel guilty any more, right?"

"You shouldn't feel guilty for living."

Monty snorts without humour. "Have you tried telling yourself that lately? We both know survivor's guilt is everywhere on this planet."

Bellamy gives another nod. He's pleased he came to see Monty. Monty isn't Clarke, can't read his thoughts, doesn't feel like the other half of his soul. But he's a good friend, and he needed a friend, today.

"You're OK, Bellamy. You did the best you could – just like you've always tried to do."

Another nod. He wonders whether maybe he's lost his voice.

Monty takes pity on him, then, and stops attempting conversation. He simply steps forward and pulls him into a hug. And it's not a Clarke hug – it's a completely different business altogether.

But it's a thousand times better than no hug at all.

…...

He tries going to see Clarke again later that evening. He just needs to make one more attempt, before he can give up on the day and seek his bed. Or maybe it's more that he knows he stands no chance of sleeping tonight anyway, and might as well put it off as long as possible.

She's awake when he enters her med bay room. She's lying on her side, tears streaking her face, staring at the wall.

"I was trying to do the right thing." He says by way of introduction. He says that because he knows she wants an apology, but he can't give her one. He will never apologise for keeping her alive.

"You always are." She says simply.

"And – and – I couldn't lose you."

"But we lost _them_."

"Yeah." He swallows. "That's on me. I knew what I was doing, Clarke. I'll carry that with me for the rest of my life. But I don't want you to think it's your burden to bear. I made the call, and I'll live with it."

"It's not as easy as that." Again with the simple words, the emptiness in her tone. This is not the Clarke he knows and loves.

 _Loves_?

Yeah. Loves.

"I know." He says, and he hopes his tone is soothing.

She isn't soothed. She isn't soothed at all. She's still sad, weeping a little louder, now, as she stares at that same point in the plasterwork.

"Why _me_ , Bellamy? Why should I deserve to survive this? Why me?"

"Because you're you." He says simply.

She gives a hollow and rather hysterical laugh. "The great Wanheda. Leader of Skaikru. _Essential personnel_."

"That's not why I was so desperate to save you. I was desperate to save you because you're _Clarke_." He admits softly.

She looks at him, then. She actually turns and looks at him for the first time in this whole wretched conversation.

"I'm so angry with you for that." She informs him, oddly detached, he thinks, with those tears still rolling down her cheeks.

"I know. I get it. Survivor's guilt." He says, swallowing painfully as he thinks back to his conversation with Monty. "I understand, Clarke. But – I'm here for you, OK? I'm here if you need anything at all. I'm – I'm worried about you."

He is worried about her. He's so damn worried he can feel it like a stabbing pain in his chest. He's never seen her crumple like this before. And he's seen and heard some frightening things from her in the last couple of months – moments like that night she couldn't write her name on the list that had him fearing she did not value her own life. But she's never scared him quite this badly before.

She shakes her head fiercely. "I can't. I'm so angry with you." She repeats, with a little more bite to her tone.

"I get that. I get it." He reverses towards the door, totally inelegant, thoroughly devastated. "I'll give you some space, OK? I'll see you when you're feeling better."

She snorts at that, and he doesn't blame her. She's clearly not going to feel better any time soon.

…...

He finds an odd pattern, in the days that follow. He shares a dorm with Monty and Miller and Jackson and Octavia, and will share with Clarke, too, when she gets out of med bay. He works alongside his sister and Kane and Abby and Indra on managing affairs in the bunker, and grows almost accustomed to seeing that infuriatingly vibrant succulent on his sister's desk.

And he grows really very skilled at stopping by med bay when Clarke is asleep.

It's better that way. He can check in on her, see that she's still breathing, without having to upset her further. And he asks for emotional updates from Abby, who says that Clarke is still low but seems to be getting over the shock and feeling a little steadier. This approach means spending a lot of time in med bay late in the evening and means he doesn't get a whole lot of sleep, but that's fine. He doesn't suppose he'd have slept much whilst worrying about her anyway.

And it's worth it, so long as he gets to keep an eye on Clarke.

…...

She catches him by surprise, the day she moves from med bay to the dorm.

He's sitting on his bed reading about the French Revolution. It's not quite Greek mythology but there aren't that many books in this bunker. Monty is playing some kind of video game on a small tablet, and the bleeping noises are annoying the hell out of Bellamy but he's too happy his friend has found a distraction from his grief to care.

Then Clarke walks straight in the door. Bellamy doesn't even realise it's her at first – he just presumes it's one of his other roommates popping home.

That all changes when she speaks.

"You didn't mean to hurt me. I get that – you thought you were doing the right thing. You weren't trying to make me hate myself." She mutters quietly.

He looks up, stunned. He presumes she must be talking to him, because frankly he's pretty sure Monty couldn't hurt her if he tried.

"I wasn't trying to hurt you. I was protecting you." He swallows. "I guess I was protecting you _selfishly_. I wanted you alive more than I thought about how you would feel. But I stand by what I did."

She nods, once. She still doesn't look _warm_ , exactly. But at least she's not actively blaming him for her distress.

He won't hold it against her. Grief and guilt and shock do funny things. And she wasn't violent with him, didn't say anything truly hurtful. She was just _sad_ , and he can well understand that.

"We gave you the bunk above mine. But we can change things up if you want." He offers, flustered. He realises she might not want them to be living in such close proximity, if she's still struggling with what he did.

"That's fine." She says neutrally.

"Really, we can move things around. Or at least let me swap and offer you the bottom bunk. You shouldn't have the top bunk while you're still recovering -"

"I'm _fine_ , Bellamy. I can climb a ladder."

She does just that. She crosses the room, walks straight towards him. And for a moment – just one heartstopping, optimistic moment – he honestly believes she might hug him.

But she doesn't, of course. She just heads for the ladder, climbs slowly into her bed. He's a damn idiot for getting his hopes up.

The worst thing of all? He sleeps better that night. However low Clarke is feeling, however much she is angry with him, he still finds peace in her nearness.

He hates himself slightly for that.

…...

She throws herself into work the very next day. She's in the office long before he is, bent over the hydrofarm plans by the time he stumbles, still sleepy, through the door. He didn't sleep much while she was in med bay, after all, so he's still reeling slightly from having slept rather more deeply last night. One of these days he swears he's going to develop a healthy sleep routine.

But he doesn't suppose that day will be any time soon.

"You here already?" He asks brightly. He's not going to expect miracles, but he thinks they could try a little friendly conversation.

"Lots to do. Got to earn my spot." She says briskly, turning a page.

He hesitates, dawdles hopelessly in front of her desk. He lets his eyes linger on the succulent, remembers how he felt the day he got that for her. He remembers his horror that she couldn't put her name on the list, remembers swearing she would never feel so low and lonely again.

He intends to keep that promise, however upset with him she might be. He's going to address what really matters, here and now.

"It's not like that, Clarke." He whispers softly. "I know it's tempting to bury yourself in work to ease the guilt. But – but you have worth as a _person_ , too." He swallows. "I know the world hasn't shown that recently. I know we've had to reduce people to whether they can bear children or fix a turbine. But _you matter_ , and it scares me when you speak like you think you don't."

She looks up at him, eyes oddly cold. "It's OK. You don't need to worry about me. I'm not going to hurt myself – I'm _essential personnel_ , aren't I? There are too many people depending on me for me to walk out into the flames. People keep telling me I'm needed." She bites out, audibly bitter.

He hesitates. He wonders whether his next words are wise. He doesn't have the first clue how to fix Clarke's crisis of self-worth, any more than he knows how to fix his own grief and guilt. He wonders why Earth Skills lessons never included such things – because these are definitely the skills that are needed to survive on this damn planet, far more than tying any snare.

"I don't need you as a leader." He tells her, as gently as he can. "I need you as a person. No – I _want_ you as a person. I want you around for who you are, not what you are."

There's a time, he thinks, when Clarke would have said much the same thing back to him, if only he found the courage to say those words. And it sucks that he's only finally telling her something of what she means to him in an effort to get her to see that she's a worthwhile human being, but if it helps at all, it will be worth it.

He doesn't know if it's worked. She's looking at him strangely, but at least she's not sobbing.

"Thanks." She says softly.

He hopes that might be a start. Maybe things might get better between them, now. Maybe there is light at the end of the tunnel.

But then they spend the rest of that morning working in the office together in silence. Sure, it's a slightly more comfortable silence than the one that fell over the dorm with her arrival last night. But it's silence all the same, and that feels strange, considering the rather talkative attitude he's always got from Clarke.

…...

That first day sets the pattern by which they work for the next few months.

Bellamy supposes it's good enough. Clarke is alive, and likely to stay alive. He wishes from the bottom of his heart that she were happier about it, but if there's one thing life has taught him, it's that wishes are a waste of time.

He does his best. He smiles softly at her when he can, folds her clean laundry if he gets back to the dorm first. He brings her meals when she's working too hard, and praises her whenever she does good work, and even tells the occasional joke. He waits up late at night, listening for the reassuring sound of her soft snores from the bunk above him. He keeps an eye on the succulent, too, nudging it safely to the centre of her desk when it gets knocked by a sheaf of papers, even dusting those strange waxy stalk-leaves when no one is looking.

In short, he does everything he can think of to show Clarke he's still with her.

…...

It's when the succulent starts to look a bit peaky that he loses it.

For the first week, he convinces himself he's imagining it. The plant doesn't look yellower, he's just losing his mind. It's been a stressful few months, after all. Maybe the light bulb in here is on the way out and is altering his perception of colour slightly.

For the next couple of weeks, he tries to ignore it. So what if a houseplant looks a bit yellow? That's not a problem, right? And it's not like they need a potted succulent round here anyway.

He's been worrying about it for a good month or so when the first leaf falls off.

He panics pure and simple. It's lucky he's the first one in the office today, because he's sure he must look stupid losing his mind over a potted plant. But it's _dying_ , damn it. He's certain of it. This precious little plant that used to represent everything good about his relationship with Clarke is about to go and _die_ on them.

He mustn't cry. He can't cry. What kind of pathetic apocalypse survivor starts crying over a dying plant?

 _This_ kind, apparently.

He chokes on a noisy sob, starts scrubbing desperately at his eyes. It's just a plant. But it's a plant that means a lot to him, OK? And it seems like all the grief he's been trying to hide away, these last few months, is sneaking up on him all at once. Like this stupid dying plant was one well-aimed shot in a can of hydrazine, and now his composure is utterly falling apart.

Then Clarke walks in the door.

"Bellamy?" She asks, audibly alarmed.

"I'm fine." He lies through his teeth. "I'm good. Just going to see Monty."

With that, he tries to make a dash for the door. But he doesn't quite make it. Clarke stops him, blocks him right on the threshold with a gentle hand on his arm.

"Bellamy? What's wrong?"

"Everything." He says, unhelpfully but rather accurately.

While she's trying to process what he means, he manages to slip out and down the hall.

…...

Monty is very helpful, it turns out. He's helpful in the matter of giving hugs and reminding Bellamy that survivor's guilt is valid, and he's even more helpful in the matter of dying pot plants.

"Is it getting the right amount of water?" Monty asks first.

"Yeah. I see Clarke water it every couple of weeks like she always used to."

Monty nods thoughtfully. "Yeah. OK. In that case it's probably just the light. You see how we have special lights on the hydrofarm? They mimic sunlight."

Bellamy sighs in relief. "So if she keeps it down here it might be OK? Will it recover?" He's not as frantic as he was over Clarke's radiation sickness, of course, but he's self-aware enough to realise that this level of distress is probably more fitting for a person falling ill than a plant.

"It'll recover if we get it some light. But she doesn't need to keep it down here. I'll rig up a little lamp for her."

"You can do that?"

"Have you met me?" Monty asks, with a hint of his old humour. "Pretty sure engineering plant lamps is basically my calling in life, Bellamy."

"Thank you. Thanks so much." He says fervently, hugging his old friend rather overenthusiastically.

Monty laughs lightly as they separate. "No. Thank _you_. It'll do me good to have a problem-solving project."

Bellamy nods. He can see that. He thinks it might do him good to have a project other than keeping Clarke and a potted plant and twelve hundred people alive, too.

…...

A small and rather particular kind of desk lamp appears in the office three days later. Bellamy doesn't see it arrive – he simply walks in to the sight of Clarke working at the desk and the lamp shining down on her precious potted plant.

"Thank you." She says, without looking up.

"Wasn't me. It was Monty."

"It was your idea." She tells him, utterly certain. He wonders whether Monty told her that, or whether she just knew.

"Yeah, it was."

She does look up, then. She looks up and meets him right in the eyes for the first time in a good six months or so, he thinks.

"You've still got my back, huh?" She asks, brows raised.

He wonders about passing that off with a joke, or pointing out that it's only a stupid potted plant. But it's more than that, and they both know it.

"Always." He manages to get the word out past the lump stuck in his throat.

She stares at him a moment longer. Then she looks down at her hands, then back up at him.

And then she stands, crosses the floor to him in three quick strides, pulls him into a fierce hug.

"Thank you." She mutters into his neck. "Thank you, Bellamy. Thank you _so much_."

"It's OK. It's what we do for each other."

She snorts damply. He doesn't call her out on it, because he knows there are only so many battles he can fight in one day. For now, she's hugging him, and that's a start.

He decides to push his luck just a little further.

"I've missed our hugs." He admits cautiously.

"Me, too."

He holds her tight, nuzzles a little further into her hair. And then he steels his courage and tries for one last moment of bravery.

"I've missed _you_."

She starts crying, then. Loud sobs that drench his shirt and have her shoulders shaking in his embrace. And for a moment he regrets his words, blames himself for making her cry. But then he decides that maybe this is a healthy thing – that she's openly crying in his arms rather than being so strange and distant.

"You're OK. I've got you." He murmurs against her neck.

She cries ever harder.

"It's OK, Clarke. I'm here. Always with you, remember? I've got you."

She squeezes him tight, even as she keeps sobbing. He figures that's encouraging, at least. So he keeps talking to her, whispering words of encouragement and support and letting his affection show in his tone.

When at last she's done crying, she keeps hugging him. They stand there for a few moments, simply breathing together.

"I'm sorry." She says at last. "I hate this. I hate feeling not like me. So empty all the time."

"I get that. I'd want to help you out, if I could."

"I don't know how you can." She admits, still holding him tight.

He rubs a hand over her back, nuzzles at her neck a little more. There's something he wants to say, but he's struggling to find the right words.

"If I wanted to _try_ to help, would that be OK? If we try to get back to taking care of each other? I get it if you're still angry – that's why I wanted to ask."

"I'm not angry any more. I'm just – just _sad_." She mutters. "I'm sorry. You don't deserve to deal with all this."

"You're worth it." He tells her honestly. He can't think of anything he believes more strongly.

She snorts, rubs her nose against his collarbone. He knows he shouldn't be thinking of his inconvenient attraction to her right now, but it's always there. It's been there almost since he met her, and it's not going away any time soon.

"Can we start this afternoon?" He asks softly. "Can I maybe take you to the gym before supper and we can train together for a while?"

"You're trying to get me out of this office." She accuses him.

"Yeah. I am." He admits, because frankly, he thinks that's the obvious place to start. A change of scene and some physical activity will do her some good – and might make her hungry enough to go to supper of her own free will, too.

She sighs, leans somehow even more deeply into his arms. He's never tried to have a whole conversation with someone whilst hugging them before, but he thinks it's a very good idea, on reflection. Or at least, it's a very good idea so long as Clarke is involved.

"That actually sounds really fun." She concedes, tentative.

"You're allowed to have fun. You can do your work and still do things for yourself."

She nods, brisk, convinced. Almost like her old decisive self, just for a moment. And then she pulls away from his arms, grins a shaky grin, and retreats back to her desk.

…...

They have a good time at the gym, more or less. It's hardly the most sophisticated gym the world has ever known, but it does the job. And sure enough, Clarke decides to go straight to supper with Bellamy afterwards, and although she doesn't talk much during the meal she does eat heartily, so that's progress.

But it's what happens after supper that's even better.

She walks back to the dorm with him. She just keeps pace, silent but present, at his shoulder, and does not turn aside towards the office.

Bellamy can't believe it. He's spent the last six months watching Clarke spend every waking hour at that desk, making herself a martyr to duty for the sake of it even when there's not really that much to do. But now she's walking straight back into the dorm in the early evening as if it's the most natural thing in the world.

Still it gets better.

He sits on his bed, as he often does. He takes a book from his bedside, as is his habit. This is some classic novel – not his favourite, but there aren't a lot of options round here.

And then Clarke perches on the end of his bed.

"Can I sit with you for a bit?" She asks, as if this is something they do all the time.

"Yeah. Sure. Of course. You want me to find you something to draw on? Or we could play -"

"Bellamy. Stop." She even _laughs_ , and it feels like a minor miracle. "It's fine. I'm happy to just sit quietly. Or maybe I can read over your shoulder."

No. He's not having that. He's not having her sit on the far end of the bed and pretend to read tiny text from great distance.

He chooses to take her suggestion and run with it.

"We can share this. Come here." He scoots over, pats a space at his side. He's sort of sitting half-on his pillow and leaning up against the wall. It's probably terrible for his back and his posture, but it's the closest thing to relaxation he's learnt to manage in this damn bunker.

She doesn't even hesitate. All these months of distant, angry quietness, and she doesn't so much as _blink_. She kicks her shoes off in a move that reminds him almost painfully of her old impatience, then settles onto the bed at his side.

"Is it a good book?" She asks. Her tone is slightly too careful, the question slightly too scripted. But she's trying – she's trying _so damn hard_ , he can feel it.

"It's not bad. Not my favourite. You want us to start over from the beginning or shall I catch you up on what's happened?"

"Tell me what I've missed."

So that's it. That's how he ends up spending an evening on recounting the plot of _Great Expectations_ to Clarke.

It's quite possibly the best evening of his life.

…...

He has a pencil and paper ready for her the next evening.

He doesn't make a big deal about it. He just has them by the side of his bed, and when she happens to go to supper and then head back to the dorm with him, he gestures to them carelessly.

"You want to draw for a bit? It seemed like _Great Expectations_ wasn't your favourite either."

She laughs lightly. It doesn't quite sound right – too cold and artificial, somehow. It's like she's laughing because she wants to show him she's trying, not because she's actually amused.

It's fine. She'll get there. They both will.

She sits down first, this time. She sits in the same place she sat last night and starts drawing, and he sits at her side and reads his book.

She keeps elbowing him, for the record. They should definitely sit the other way round. Between her being left-handed and him being right-handed this is a recipe for disaster.

He's never been so happy to be elbowed in the ribs in his life.

…...

Things get better, but they don't get better _quickly_. Bellamy wishes he had some magic wand to wave and cure Clarke's head, but he knows that mental health doesn't work like that.

He knows that, because he feels pretty terrible too. There's a reason he's fixating on taking care of Clarke – it gives him something to think about other than all the horrific things he has done. It means he can tell himself that he's lying awake at night to watch over her, not because sleep continues to elude him.

But all the same, life is certainly better now that he and Clarke are facing their troubles together, more or less. They have always worked best when they are on the same side. So it is, now, that he allows himself to be a bit more open about taking care of her. If she doesn't fancy going to a meal, he volunteers to pick up some food for her to eat later, rather than just leaving it wordlessly on her desk. On more than one occasion she starts crying in the office, and he's completely matter-of-fact about walking over to give her a hug.

One time she catches him dusting the succulent, and he doesn't try to hide it. He simply smiles at her, and she smiles back, and it is good.

…...

He thinks that the chess plan is a good one. He thinks that it will be an easy victory, in as much as easy victories even exist round here. He thinks Clarke will be excited to see the chess board he has drawn on a sheet of paper and the pieces he has improvised out of scavenged office supplies, and she will hug him, and thank him, and they will be happy.

He couldn't be more wrong.

"I got you something." He says, as they sit together on his bed after supper one evening.

She frowns, confused. "You did? How? What?"

"I made it." He says proudly. And then he brings out the makeshift chess set in its little brown box, opens it up to show her.

She bursts into tears immediately.

He drops the chess set, wraps his arms around her in a frantic hurry. Why is she crying? Tears seem like a surprising reaction to a gift he was so sure would lift her spirits. She _loves_ chess – he's heard her tell more stories about beating Wells at chess than any other aspect of her childhood, he's pretty sure.

"You're OK. I've got you." He murmurs as he holds her. He's seen her through enough storms of tears by now to know that's something she often needs to hear. "You're OK, Clarke. I'm right here."

"I'm sorry." She sobs against his chest.

"You don't need to apologise. You're OK, Clarke. I've got you."

She cries a little longer. And he keeps murmuring words of reassurance, waits patiently for her to explain herself – or not to explain herself, if she can't. That's fine too. Whatever she needs.

She calms down eventually, hiccuping softly. And he keeps holding her tight, keeps talking to her, because he knows that the mere fact she is no longer actively crying is not in itself a sign that she's feeling OK.

"I'm sorry. It's really lovely." She mutters against his chest.

"I didn't mean to upset you." He says. It's a statement of the obvious, but he still feels the need to say it.

"I know. It's just – I _can't_ , Bellamy. I can't play chess. I just can't."

"That's OK." He soothes, when really he's wondering what the hell she's talking about. She can play chess, and well – he knows because he's heard her say it.

"Every time I try to think about something difficult it's like my brain is full of fog. And I just know that if I try to play chess I'll be terrible and I'll get frustrated and feel even worse. And – and _Wells_. I don't think I can play chess without Wells."

"That's OK." He repeats. "I'm sorry. I should have thought about how it might remind you of Wells."

"It's not your fault." She tells him firmly. He smiles a little despite the circumstances. Even now, it seems, she is still determined to defend him – even to himself.

He gathers his courage, tries to articulate something tricky but important. "But Clarke, you know what you said about not being able to concentrate? Does that really matter? Does it matter if you play terribly? I know you'll beat me anyway. And what if we're not even playing to win? What if the point of the game is about you feeling good enough to give it a try, not who wins?"

She sits up, looks him right in the eye. There's a new light in her gaze that he's not seen in months.

"You're right." She says simply.

"Can I get that in writing?" He teases. "Pretty sure you've never admitted that before."

She laughs – and it even sounds genuine. "You're right. Want me to say it again? You're right. We can just play for ten minutes or whatever and cut the game off before anyone is close to winning. It doesn't matter if I'm a work in progress."

He grins at her, delighted. He couldn't have put it better himself. They're each of them a work in progress – as is everyone, he's pretty sure. And he's just proud to say that he and Clarke make rather faster progress when they try to move forward side-by-side.

…...

They play chess quite often, after that. Mostly it goes well enough. Sometimes it doesn't – sometimes it ends with Clarke frustrated and crying and wondering whether she will ever feel like her old lively self again – and that's fine too. They both know that recovering from such things does not progress in a direct straight line.

But mostly it's OK, and that's good news.

…...

Bellamy takes himself by surprise when he falls ill.

He doesn't quite understand what's going on, when he wakes up in what is evidently the med bay. The last thing he remembers is getting up in the morning and going about his normal daily routine, dressing and breakfast and working and -

And that weird dizzy spell in the hallway, and the floor rushing up to meet him.

Oh. Well. That's a start, he supposes, but he still doesn't see why he should be waking up in med bay. He must just have fainted, which is maybe a little pathetic but hardly a cause for some major medical intervention. What the hell is he doing here?

He looks around him, tries to gather some clues. He doesn't seem to be hooked up to a whole lot of machines or anything – he's just lying in a bed. And there at the side of the bed is Clarke, to his mingled delight and embarrassment.

"What happened?" He asks her, and he's surprised to hear his voice come out weak.

"You passed out. You're OK, though – or you will be. You have this virus that causes extreme fatigue."

"Extreme fatigue?" He echoes, puzzled. Sure, he's been tired recently. But he didn't bother taking much notice of it. He's always tired, pretty much – and it seems foolish to make a fuss over being _more_ tired than tired.

"Yeah. I can't believe you didn't say anything." She chastises him, through a tearful smile. "I could have taken care of you."

He smiles slightly at that. He can't help it. Clarke's always been the only person who dares to try and take care of him.

"I honestly didn't realise." He swallows, tries to decide how honest to be. "I've never slept very well for as long as I can remember. And I guess if I was more tired than usual I put it down to worrying about you and O."

She shakes her head, still smiling damply. "Typical. So busy taking care of us you forgot to take care of yourself." She teases.

He grins slightly. This is rather different from how he remembers med bay, last time he was here. He remembers that horrific coldness between him and Clarke when she first woke up, and can't believe how far they've come to arrive at this warm mutual support, now.

"How long do I have to stay here, doc?" He asks her, trying for a lighthearted tone, as he carries on looking around the room. He can't face the idea of being stuck here for ages – _extreme fatigue_ or not, he's a guy made for action.

Or perhaps for feeling useful. Perhaps that's a little different.

It's the same exact room Clarke was in, he's pretty sure. Then again, maybe all small grey rooms look the same. But it has the same furniture in the same orientation, and that bedside cabinet is -

Wow. Oh wow. There's a succulent on his bedside cabinet. A most _particular_ succulent, with a little desk lamp set over it.

"You brought the plant?" He asks, stunned.

"Three days." She says firmly, in the tone of someone who is annoyed with his change of subject.

"Sure. Three days. But you brought the _plant_?" He repeats, because really, that's quite big news. Bigger news than being stuck here for three days.

She flushes slightly, looks down at her feet as she answers. "I brought the plant. I know it's stupid, but I was so worried about you and I thought maybe that way I could be with you in spirit even when I had to go back to the dorm at night."

"But it's _your_ plant." He really cannot get his head around this. She loves that plant. He can't believe she would willingly give it up.

"I prefer to think of it as _our_ plant." She corrects him softly.

There's only one possible answer to that. He reaches out to take her hand as he's been itching to do since he woke up here. It's harder than he expected, because his arm feels strangely heavy with exhaustion, but it's worth it for the feeling of Clarke squeezing his fingers gently.

They rest in comfortable silence for a few minutes. Bellamy permits himself to stroke a thumb over the back of Clarke's hand because apparently he's quite sick, so he thinks he deserves a small treat. But it also helps him gather his courage for what is to come.

"How have _you_ been?" He asks her. "I don't know how long I've been ill – were you OK without me?"

She smiles at him. And for the first time in the best part of a year it honestly looks like her old smile – that determined and slightly sad one she would wear at Arkadia.

"You've been out just over a day. I was worried about you but honestly, I'm fine."

He frowns. That doesn't sound right.

"Really." She tells him, evidently reading his disbelief on his face. "I'm doing a bit better. On the one hand you scared me, but it also forced me to focus on _you_ rather than the guilt for a change."

He nods. He's still sceptical, but he supposes she might have a point. And even if he doesn't quite see it, he wants to support her all the same.

"You should get some more sleep." Clarke suggests – or perhaps _commands_ , but her voice is so gentle he doesn't feel ordered around.

"I don't sleep much." He reminds her. It's something they've never spoken about till today – because he's never passed out from sheer exhaustion until today. But he has a feeling she knows all the same. She's known him long enough, and she did used to have that habit of trying to convince him to nap on her couch when he hadn't slept the night before, back at Arkadia.

"I know." She swallows. "Close your eyes and give it a try."

"Will you stay?" He asks her. He knows that's a bit pathetic, but he asks it all the same.

"Sure. I'll stay at least a couple more hours – as late as my mum will let me." She jokes. "And then you'll have the plant, so I'll still be with you in spirit."

He nods. He can deal with that. He shifts his hand in her grasp, until he's sort of clasping it against him, half-hugging her arm as he settles in to sleep.

He thinks too hard, while he's waiting to doze off. He often finds himself doing that. Usually he's worrying about the people he loves, when he's failing to sleep. But today it's a bit different. Today he's thinking that it's kind of lovely, to have Clarke sitting here and taking care of him. It's peaceful, and calming, and really reassuring.

Maybe, he might even manage to fall asleep after all.

…...

Bellamy wakes up in the night, heart thumping, head pounding, skin clammy with fear.

That's not new.

What's new is that the fear last minutes instead of hours, tonight. It's the stupidest thing, because Clarke's not actually there, but somehow he feels closer to the comfort of her presence, in this moment, than he ever does in that dorm where she's actually sleeping just above him.

It's _emotional_ closeness, he figures, when he's calmed down a little. That's what makes the difference. After her visit earlier, the tender way she held his hand, he knows that they are OK and that she has forgiven him for the choice he made on death wave day. He knows that she's with him in spirit, even though she's not physically here.

He knows that, because he has a small green succulent to remind him of it.

…...

Bellamy is surprised to notice, in the days that follow, that Clarke seems to be his main doctor. She's his _only_ doctor, in fact – besides that one time that she called Jackson in for a second opinion. And he trusts her to the moon and back, of course he does, no matter how much of her apprenticeship she missed out on in solitary. But he just thinks it's a bit odd – she's more or less the leader round here, for all that Octavia won the conclave. Doesn't she have better things to do than sit around med bay fussing over one guard with a virus?

She doesn't seem to begrudge the time spent on his care, though. Quite the opposite – she's livelier than he's seen her in months.

Again – it's a bit odd.

He decides to ask her about it, towards the end of the second day. After all, they are in a good place right now – he's convinced of it. So he figures he can afford to try asking a difficult question or two.

"Why are you always here?" He asks, then curses himself. "I mean – don't you have more important places to be? Surely someone else can take care of me."

She frowns, hard. "I want to."

"I'm not complaining." He rushes to assure her. "I – it means a lot. I just don't get it."

She fiddles very carefully with a page of her notes for a few seconds. He waits patiently, because he knows that whatever comes next will be well worth hearing.

"I really do want to. Because it's _you_." She says, with careful emphasis and a warm smile that takes his breath away. "But I think it's been really good for me, too. It's something I actually _want_ to do. I fell into leadership when we landed here. But I always wanted to be a doctor. Caring for someone – especially someone important to me -"

She trails off. He reaches out to still her hand where it fiddles with the paper, squeezes gently.

"Yeah?" He prompts softly.

"It's given me something to do that I really believe in. It's the career I spent my whole childhood dreaming of. And it's kind of helping balance out the deaths I feel guilty for."

He's so happy to hear it. He doesn't think he's ever been so happy to hear anything in his life, in fact. It really explains why she's looked so perky these last couple of days, as if she's suddenly taken on a new lease of life just as he's been laid low by illness.

He gets it, now.

"If you're feeling so much better after a couple of days, just think how you might feel if you worked here more long term." He offers lightly.

She nods eagerly. "Yeah. I've spoken to my mum and Octavia about it. I'll probably go back to spending most of my time in the office when you're better, but I'll take some shifts here too."

He hesitates. He really wants to push it further, in his heart of hearts. He wants to insist to Clarke that she ditches leadership altogether, if it's eating away at her happiness, and that she should work in med bay full time. But he knows she'll never go for that – she takes her duty to her people far too seriously, even though it's a duty she acquired by accident, more or less.

"That sounds like a good plan." He says carefully, in the end. "I'll be here to help you however I can."

She laughs lightly, which surprises him. It's a sound he's not heard in far too long.

"Isn't it supposed to be me saying that to you?" She asks, bright and teasing. "You're the one sick in bed here, Bellamy."

"There are different kinds of sick." He points out. He doesn't want to bring down her joyful mood, but he thinks it needs to be said.

"Yeah. I know." She acknowledges easily. "We'll take care of each other. That's what we do."

He remembers a time when he said much the same thing and she didn't believe it. That makes it all the sweeter to hear the words falling from her lips, now, in turn.

…...

It's that conversation that gives him the courage to try something, late that evening. They've established that there are different kinds of sick, and that he and Clarke support each other. And he thinks they've also established implicitly that difficult conversations are allowed, between them.

So it is that he steels himself to ask the question. Clarke is trying to encourage him to settle down for the night, so he knows this is his last chance to make this request before he falls asleep holding her hand.

"Is there any chance of me moving back to the dorm sooner? Maybe tonight?" He asks.

She frowns. He can understand that. He's not complained about being in med bay up until now, and it must have taken her by surprise.

He rushes on to explain himself. "I know you want me to get lots of sleep. And I fall asleep really well when you're here but then when I wake up in the night – I do get back to sleep again but I wondered it if it was worth seeing whether I'd do better in the dorm where you're close by."

"You weren't sleeping well in the dorm before." She points out, one step ahead of the conversation as always.

He stares carefully at his knees. "That's because I was worried about you and about whether things would ever be the same between us after – after what I did. But we're good now. You've spent two days fussing over me and teasing me about my taste in books. And you said yourself that you're feeling a bit better." He concludes, hoping against hope that she agrees with his assessment of the situation.

She rests a hand on his shoulder, an uncanny reflection of the way he helped her through the night she wrote the list, all those months ago. He dares to look up into her eyes, sees warmth and something that looks a lot like hope.

And then she nods. Just that – a sharp, decisive nod.

"You're right." She says easily. "It's worth a try. I know I always feel better knowing you're nearby."

"So I can go back to the dorm?" He asks eagerly.

"No." She shakes her head, every inch the decisive doctor. "I'll sleep here."

"Clarke -"

"I'll sleep here." She repeats. "I'll get Jackson to help me bring a bed in from next door. I'll be perfectly comfortable."

She's right, of course. Perfectly comfortable. They are comfortable as they chat and joke together while they prepare for bed, as Clarke tells him she plans to help with a contraceptive implant replacement in the morning, as he tells her she'd better bring him a new book tomorrow.

And then they are perfectly comfortable as they settle down to sleep. Bellamy is even comfortable when he wakes up in the middle of the night, glances over to see Clarke curled on her side and facing him, as if she fell asleep gazing at his face. For the first time in as long as he can remember, he's dozing off again almost before he notices he's awake.

By the time he wakes up the following morning, he's pretty sure it's the most comfortable night's sleep either of them has had in years.

…...

He goes home the next day, but he doesn't truly leave the med bay. His dorm has the same atmosphere in the weeks that follow, as he continues to spend most of his time resting and Clarke continues to fuss over him. He makes a point of never objecting to her excessive hovering – partly because he knows it's helping her, but largely because it's frankly lovely to have someone so keen to take care of him, after a lifetime spent taking care of others.

Only one thing really changes when he moves back to the dorm, and that's the sleeping arrangements. One week in, he simply wakes up to find Clarke in his arms.

He frowns to himself, tries to puzzle it out. He doesn't understand why she's here. They didn't get together last night – that's most definitely something he would have remembered, after so long spent falling slowly in love with her. The last thing he recalls is that it was late, and that he was struggling to get to sleep, and that she was sitting on the side of the bed and telling him some story about her childhood.

Huh. Apparently she decided not to leave.

He doesn't make a fuss. He'd quite happily share this tiny bed with Clarke for the next four years, no questions asked. So he simply holds her and waits for her to wake up.

She starts fidgeting not long later, just as Monty is yawning loudly on the other side of the dorm. Bellamy supposes that's just how it is, round here – they will never have any privacy for the moments that matter.

"Is this OK?" Clarke comes straight out and asks him.

"More than OK." He confirms easily.

He wonders about adding something else, too. Something like _you know how I feel about you_ or _we could do more than sleep_. But he has a feeling she's not quite ready for that, yet.

"You can sleep here as often as you like." He goes for that, in the end, and for hugging her a little tighter for good measure as he says the words.

"You'll regret that when I'm elbowing you in the ribs every night." Clarke teases.

He grins. It's so good to see her teasing again. "I really won't."

She sighs, but it's a happy sigh. And then she rolls over so she's just resting her head on his bicep, looking up at the bunk above. He peers down at her face as best as he can, sees what looks suspiciously like a genuine smile spreading across her cheeks.

"I have to go to my shift in med bay." She informs him brightly.

"That's cool. Enjoy it. I'll see you later."

"Yeah. I said I'd meet with your sister and Monty about the hydrofarm but I'll catch you -"

"Clarke. It's fine. I don't want to be another item on your to-do list. I'll stay here and rest like my doctor told me to." He teases. "I'll see you when I see you."

"You're not just another item on my to-do list. You're my _priority_." She insists firmly.

He grins. Another time, he intends to tease her about the implicit innuendo in this conversation about him on her _to-do list_. But for now, he knows she's not quite robust enough for that. He doesn't want to burden her with any expectations of where their relationship is headed.

So it is that he simply kisses her on the forehead and sees her on her way.

…...

Bellamy feels as weak as a kitten, the first day he makes it to the office after his illness. He sits heavily at the desk, looks about him. The succulent is here, of course, with its little lamp. Clarke's filing system is still in evidence, as he takes in the tidy office. And his sister's influence remains strong, with a sword sitting carelessly on the couch and a long black cloak slung over a nearby chair.

He doesn't have much planned for this first day. Gaia is going to come by and chat with him about training the kids, and that's about it.

Clarke has other plans, of course. She strides into the room at the end of her med bay shift, smiles broadly when she sees him there.

"You made it!"

He nods. He's not sure walking down the hallway is such an achievement, compared to some of the feats they've managed on Earth. But he supposes that he was pretty sick, and maybe this counts as meaningful progress.

"You OK?" She asks, suddenly concerned.

He curses himself. He didn't mean to worry her. "Yeah. Fine. Just – it's a lot, you know? While I was sick I could pretend it was just you and me and the others in the dorm. I could kind of forget about... the rest." The rest of the people in this bunker, and the rest of the people who never made it this far.

"I get that." She says, walking over and stooping to press a kiss to his cheek, of all things. "Come on, just have a go at reading the oxygen report. And then when I get back from meeting Indra we can go to the gym."

He frowns. She's his doctor, and she's made it quite clear he's not to do any strenuous activity for a little while yet.

"The gym? Really?" He prompts, wondering whether perhaps her brain is misfiring, this morning. He figures that would be plenty understandable, after all they've been through. Distraction or forgetfulness wouldn't surprise him in the slightest.

"Yeah. Don't worry, I'm not about to let you do any lifting. You can stretch for a bit or just sit and watch. But there's not much else fun to do round here, is there?"

"Hanging out with you is always pretty fun." He says easily, with a shrug. It's a simple truth, even if it feels like a big confession, in this moment.

She grins at him affectionately, that same twist to her lips she used to get during their good-natured bickering, before. Back before he abandoned Raven and betrayed Murphy and thought he'd broken his relationship with Clarke for good.

And now she's dragging him to the gym to hang out and have fun – the same makeshift gym he took her to, that first day they agreed to try taking care of each other once again.

Huh. Maybe miracles do happen, on the ground or beneath it.

…...

There's not a lot of privacy in the bunker. Bellamy's grateful that at least he shares a dorm with people he knows well. But all the same, there are some conversations he'd rather have without eavesdroppers.

Mostly he ends up having those conversations at night, though. Mostly he whispers to Clarke in the darkness, as she lies in his arms and he fails to sleep. Now that the extreme fatigue of his illness is more or less past, he's starting to struggle more often once again.

This evening, it's Clarke who starts the conversation. He's surprised by that – he thought she had dozed off.

"How are you doing?"

He grunts. He's not doing great. He's awake, and fixated on being awake, and how much he'll upset Clarke and Octavia if he goes and gets himself a relapse.

"It seems worse since we started living in this bunker." She observes neutrally, voice soft. "Any idea why?"

He snorts. So many ideas why – where to start?

"Because I worry about you and O. I don't want you to be stressed out over trying to lead the human race between you. But I guess I've always worried about you both since we came to Earth, so that's not new."

She makes a soothing humming sound, strokes a hand over his arm. She's been getting increasingly tactile recently, and he really likes it.

"It's mainly the guilt I guess. I blame myself for the crash – I was so distracted by being hurt by you locking the door, then trying to process your apology. I know that's partly why I was so desperate to bring you back – I'd almost condemned all of us by crashing that rover, so I needed to save at least someone." He swallows a sticky swallow. It's hard to talk about this, even though he's had so long to come to terms with it. "I was trying to do the right thing, Clarke. Sense versus sentiment. I was trying to do better than being that naive guy who followed Pike but then I ended up killing our friends and hurting you."

"You didn't kill them. Praimfaya did."

"It's my fault they're -"

"No. It's not." She says, firm, brooking no disagreement. "I understand why you feel that way – emotions don't always cooperate with truth. I get that you feel guilty whether it's logical for you to blame yourself or not. But it's not your fault. You thought it through and your heart was in the right place. You did the best you could."

 _Your heart was in the right place_. That sounds like something his sister said to him, a little over a year ago.

"And – I forgive you." Clarke breathes out on a sigh. "I know that's silly. I know I have no right to be angry that you saved my life. But this is me saying we're good. My survivor's guilt is not your fault. And I can't blame you because – because I'd do anything to save you, too."

"You would?" He's surprised, somehow. He knows he matters to Clarke, but he doesn't think of her as the _doing anything to save you_ type.

"Yeah. Don't know if you noticed this, but I'm kind of in love with you." She says, tone too light, as if trying to make a joke of it.

He feels warmth blossoming in his chest. There's his Clarke – leader of the human race, but still nervous when it comes to love. It's good to see her like this, truly herself, albeit shaped by her experience of feeling so low when they first arrived in this bunker.

"I love you, too." He tells her. He's been waiting a while to say it, after all.

She laughs. Of all things, she breaks out into a loud giggle that has Monty rolling over with a groan on the next bed, and Miller sitting up to peer across at them through the shadows.

That only makes her giggle louder. She presses her face into Bellamy's chest, and he holds her tight, pressing kisses to the crown of her head.

"Our timing sucks, right?" She asks, when she can talk again. "Make out with me when the others have fallen asleep again? Meet me in the office storage closet tomorrow evening?"

That has him laughing in turn. She's got a point. It's not the most convenient time or place to confess their love – the middle of the night, in a bunker, in a nuclear disaster. But his relationship with Clarke has never been about convenience.

"I never want to catch you two making out in here." Monty hisses from his bunk.

"Me neither. It would be like catching my mum and dad kissing." Miller says, with a staged shudder.

"I do not want to think of my brother doing _that_." Octavia adds.

"What did I miss?" Jackson asks, bleary, blinking fast.

Bellamy sighs, but he's not complaining. Privacy is good, but friends are good too. It's good to be reminded that he hasn't betrayed everyone he was ever close with.

…...

They don't make out in the room _much_. Maybe a little, every now and then, when everyone's asleep. They trade passing kisses around the place quite easily, snog a little more enthusiastically in the office storage closet.

They still haven't had sex, two weeks after that midnight love confession, but Bellamy's not too bothered. He's _horny_ , yes, but not _bothered_. After years spent loving Clarke and worrying about the state of their relationship, he's so relieved to find them unambiguously on the same page that he's trying not to make a fuss about the sex.

OK, maybe he is a little bothered.

Maybe he agrees a little too quickly when Clarke suggests they could spend the night in a locked empty room in med bay, with a bed and everything. Maybe he's a little too eager when he meets her there and starts kissing her soundly, even before she's had time to say hello.

Maybe he's a little too happy, when they fall asleep together afterwards.

He can't remember the last time he felt so relaxed at night.

…...

They have a good couple of years.

It's not perfect, of course. There are disputes to resolve, demons that still haunt them. Sometimes Bellamy could swear he can hear Raven on the radio in his dreams, and sometimes Clarke startles awake crying Harper's name.

But they're doing OK. Things are fine.

Things are fine until they're _not_.

"We've got a problem." Monty announces, striding into the office.

Bellamy freezes. He's got his hands on Clarke's butt and was kissing her pretty enthusiastically, and he figures any second now Monty is going to berate them for making out in public.

It's when Monty _doesn't_ complain about their public displays of affection that Bellamy knows the problem is a serious one.

"Tell us." Clarke prompts, all business, pulling away from Bellamy's arms and settling onto a chair.

"The soy bean crop is dying." Monty says without preamble.

Bellamy frowns. That's bad. It's _very_ bad. Farming isn't his area of specialisation – he more often deals with the people, and with training and teaching in particular. But even he knows that the soy beans are their protein source.

" _Is_ dying?" Clarke echoes. "Details?"

"Yield is down twenty percent already. The next generation of plants are looking even less healthy. We've tried everything we can think of – sunlight lamps, switching up the nutrients in the water flow."

"Then try something you _haven't_ thought of yet." Clarke suggests. She's not _snapping_ exactly, nor trying to be unhelpful. It's more like she's pointing out that giving up simply isn't an option, here.

"We will. We'll keep trying." Monty swallows. "I just wanted to give you as much warning as possible in case – in case we can't fix it."

Clarke nods. Bellamy smiles carefully at his old friend. Monty has had a tough time since Harper died, with these plants being his only solace. It can't have helped him, Bellamy knows, to find even his plants letting him down.

"Thanks for telling us, Monty." Bellamy offers gently.

"Yeah. Thanks." Clarke adds, trying for a smile. "I'm sorry. It's not your fault. We couldn't ask for a better agriculture team."

"I get it." Monty nods, solemn. "That's why I wanted to warn you. Another one of your impossible choices."

With that he is gone. And Clarke follows not long behind him, off to consult with her mother and Jackson about the medical implications of the soy crop failure, she says.

Bellamy stares at the wall, and wonders if this almost-happy life of his is about to fall crashing around his shoulders.

…...

Clarke is back not long later.

"My mum thinks we should ask for volunteers for a culling." She says, without preamble.

Bellamy nods. He's not at all surprised – he sort of saw that one coming, if he's being honest. A cull would leave them with fewer people to feed.

"Let me guess – if we're down by twenty percent on protein, she thinks we should cull twenty percent of the population."

Clarke nods, sinks heavily to the couch. "Yeah. It's like she wants this to be the Ark all over again."

"I don't think she _wants_ that. I think she just can't see another option. And she was raised in a world where that was the solution – she's seen it work before now, however horrific it is." Bellamy defends her on instinct. Abby still isn't close with him, but she gave birth to Clarke, and raised her, so she can't be all bad.

"It's not just that, Bellamy." Clarke swallows loudly. "She suggested that if we – if we cut back the population now, people will still have muscle mass." She swallows again. "She's suggesting the cull could – could _be_ a protein source."

He gulps. Now that's one he didn't see coming. He's used to thinking of Abby as a less warm version of Clarke – brisk and pragmatic, but essentially caring.

He might have to revisit that opinion, it seems.

"She's suggesting that people volunteer to be killed and – and then we eat them." He repeats back, carefully. He wants to check there have been no misunderstandings.

Clarke nods. Silence falls. He reaches out an arm to her, and she tucks herself willingly beneath it, curls right into his chest.

And then she says something that surprises him.

"I won't volunteer, if it comes to it. I wanted you to know that. It's not just that I think I'm needed here to hold things together. I'm so _happy_ with you, Bellamy. I want us both to live and make it up to the surface again together. For the first time since I was seventeen years old I can see a future, and _I want it_."

He sighs a long sigh. On any other day of the week, he'd be overjoyed to hear that – it's the complete opposite of how he remembers Clarke feeling, three years ago. But today, it's sadly overshadowed by the tough choices that might lie ahead of them.

"I love you so much. I want that future with you, too." He tells her fervently, holding her tight.

And while he hugs her, he looks over at the desk. He gazes at that little succulent that has grown a little bigger, these last couple of years, and wonders whether his silly gift might be able to bring them some good luck now, too.

He knows it's not the plant that brings the luck. He knows the plant is only a symbol of the luck they make for themselves by supporting each other and doing their best. But as he looks at the plant, now, and wishes for a brighter future, he thinks he can understand why Vera Kane and her faithful used to pray to that one lonely tree.

…...

It is Monty who saves them all, in the end.

Bellamy's happy about that. He's happier about it than he's been about pretty much anything since they moved into this hole in the ground. Anything except his relationship with Clarke, obviously. That goes without saying.

He's happy that it is Monty who saves them, because he thinks that saving them all might just save Monty, too. It might help him to put his survivor's guilt behind him at last. What Monty has done is identify some nutrient the soy beans are missing out on, and found a way to produce a fertiliser from algae to make up the difference.

He's named the algae strain after Harper and Jasper, of course. And coming from anyone else, naming an algae strain after a dead best friend and girlfriend would be damn weird behaviour. But coming from Monty, it seems like the most obvious and respectful tribute in the world.

It gets Bellamy thinking. He knows what it's like, to feel a little too emotionally attached to something green and inanimate. It gets him wondering whether there's something he and Clarke should try.

"Do you think we should name our succulent?" He asks her, as they lie in bed one night.

She snorts. "It's not a child, Bellamy. Is this your way of telling me you wish we did have a kid?"

"It might be." That's not the reason he started the conversation but yes, he knows he's always been the nurturing type, always daydreamed about raising a kid by choice – one born out of love, not the hardship that led to his mother's sex work and pregnancy with Octavia.

But this is Clarke, of course. And although he knows her very well, this is a side of her he still cannot figure out. She chooses to care for people in the med centre by day – feels a strong calling to it, even. But she's never struck him as someone who _wants_ to be maternal, even though he knows she'd do a great job of it if she was interested.

To his surprise, she does not make a big deal of it. She just hums in agreement and then yawns widely.

What did that humming noise mean? Was that a yes? Yes to naming a little houseplant or yes to a future full of babies? Should he -?

"I'd like that, when we get out of here. You'll be a great dad." She says lightly, as if it is the most obvious thing in the world.

Huh. It seems like that's settled, then.

…...

The soybean crop does not bounce back right away, of course. Monty is a genius but he cannot work miracles. There are three torturous months in which the yield recovers slowly to its previous level – and then beyond. And while they sit and wait for their protein supply to recover, people are nervous. Shifty. Wondering whether the soy beans will be back in full force before people start to starve.

Bellamy expects things to go wrong. He expects Clarke to start working too hard for the sake of it, expects his sister to start waving a sword around at the slightest provocation. He expects things to go wrong with him, too – he expects to forget how to sleep at night once more.

It never happens, though.

"Did you sleep OK?" Clarke asks him, one morning, frowning deeply. She doesn't usually come out and say it straight like that, so he knows she must be somewhere between worried and confused.

"Yeah. You?" He asks, even though he knows she did. He just wants to help her pretend this is a perfectly normal conversation.

"Yeah."

There's a moment's pause. She frowns at him even harder, and that's what decides it for him. It's a stupid idea, for them both to sit here pretending they're not worried about each other. They've been together for years and loved each other for longer. He thinks they can cope with a little honesty when it comes to facing their demons.

"Honestly, I've been sleeping really well. I think it's because things are so good with you and O and I know everyone's safe." Everyone who's still alive, that is.

"That's good." Clarke says, visibly relieved, curling in close to press a kiss to his neck.

"What about you?" He asks, with a careful tone that makes it clear he's not asking about her sleeping patterns, but that she must know exactly what he _is_ asking.

"I think I'm OK. You know how sometimes it's difficult to tell? You don't realise you're not OK until something sets you off?"

He nods, makes an encouraging noise. He can see that.

"So I think I'm fine. I'm wondering about asking my mum if I can formally finish my apprenticeship. I know she treats me like a full doctor anyway but – it might be good for me to have that."

"Yeah. It would be a good thing to celebrate." He agrees.

He's proud of her for thinking of it. He's proud of himself for asking about it. He's proud of both of them, really, for learning how to be happy in the midst of so much sorrow.

…...

The final years in the bunker are not easy. Nothing about Earth is _easy_ , in Bellamy's experience. But they are at least survivable, and functional, and even occasionally happy.

Octavia is still prone to violent fits of temper, but she's aware of it, now. She tries to stop herself, is working with Jackson on talking it through and ensuring her heart stays in the right place.

Clarke is still prone to blaming herself for everything, but she understands, now, that is simply her habit even when it is not the truth. So when she's feeling guilty she goes to occupy herself in med bay for a while, and all is more or less well.

Bellamy is still prone to worrying about his loved ones more than he worries about himself. But he worries about things in general less than he used to – and anyway, his loved ones are getting better at reminding him that he has value, too.

And the succulent? Still green. Still bright and resilient and hopeful. Still the perfect picture of everything he loves about his partnership with Clarke.

…...

The day they move out of the bunker is a difficult day for Bellamy. It marks the first time in five years he's got to spend days away from Clarke.

Monty has already been out in a rover to check out Shallow Valley and check that it is safe for human habitation. So now Clarke and Abby and the rest of the medical team, along with the engineers and the farmers, will drive to the valley to get set up. The rest of the residents of the bunker will make the long journey on foot.

Bellamy doesn't mind walking. And he's happy to do this duty of providing some leadership for the walking party. Besides which, he'll have Miller and Octavia with him, so that will be cheerful enough.

But he's really going to miss Clarke.

It's surreal, saying goodbye to her. They've never had to say goodbye since they first got together.

"I love you." He mutters, as he hugs her tight. That seems like an obvious place to start.

"I love you, too." She whispers back, nose nestled in his neck.

And that's that. They pull away. Clarke reaches for her backpack, and for that precious potted plant.

"This reminds me of taking you to Becca's lab." He says, nodding at the way she cradles the succulent.

She grins. "A little bit. It's grown, though."

"But you're still clinging to it like you're worried it's going to run away." He teases affectionately.

To his surprise, she doesn't tease back. She looks deadly serious as she answers him.

"I don't think it's going to run away. I just don't want to lose it. It's important to me." She swallows. "I know it's just a plant, and we're together now whether I lose it or not. But back in the beginning – I couldn't believe it was real. I didn't want to let it out of my sight. No one had ever bought me a plant before."

"I was trying to buy flowers for my girlfriend." He jokes, touched by her honesty.

She smiles softly. "That's what I was hoping. I always knew I should have just asked you why you bought it."

He nods. He swallows. And then he gathers his courage, prepares to say something that is terrifying, somehow, even though they pass words of love between them daily.

"I bought it because I was in love with you, even then. And because I was really worried about you that night you wrote the list. I wanted to cheer you up and show you I cared."

"You did good." She assures him easily, reaching up for another kiss.

She goes on her way, then. She hops into the rover, hugging her precious pot plant close. And Bellamy watches her leave and dreams of the new life they will live in the valley.

…...

The walk is unpleasant.

What of it? It's not the first unpleasant thing Bellamy has faced on Earth, and he doubts it will be the last.

At least there are good things waiting for him at the end. He'll gladly endure a blister or two – or three or four or more – if that's what it takes to build a life with Clarke.

…...

The valley is beautiful – green and lush just as Monty described. Bellamy tries not to get too overexcited as they draw nearer to the village, but it's a lost cause. He's positively fizzing with eagerness, feels like a hopeful young child again.

Huh. It's a long time since he's felt that way.

He intends to be a good leader when they arrive. He intends to help people set up tents, to ensure everyone has supper, and to get to work on digging some latrines.

Clarke has other ideas.

"Bellamy!"

She runs through the crowd, barrels into his arms before he's even had chance to set down his pack. He doesn't mind, of course. He's too happy to see her looking so excited and carefree.

"Did you miss me?" He whispers against her hair.

"So much. It was weird being apart from you after all these years together."

"Yeah."

Silence falls. He's still holding her, and that's nice and all, but he really would like to take off this heavy pack at some point.

"Come on." Clarke says, in that brisk leader-of-the-human-race tone of hers, pulling away from the hug but keeping hold of his hand. "We're going home. I settled it with your sister – she and Indra have got things under control here."

He swallows. He can well believe that Octavia and Indra are capable of overseeing a bunch of tents and latrines. But it's the first time in as long as he's known her that Clarke has honestly been advocating both of them taking some time off when there's work to be done.

He likes it. Or rather – he _wants_ to like it. He knows it's good and healthy. He's just still getting his head around it.

He doesn't have time to get his head around it. Clarke drags him along in her wake regardless, and he loves her even more for that. This is what they've always done for each other – taking care of one another, even if they do not quite realise they need it themselves. Taking care even when they do not think they truly deserve it, or even against their guilt-tainted wishes.

Clarke has been busy while he was walking, it turns out. She hasn't just chosen them a cottage – she's gone ahead and moved right in, set up a working household. He's a little stunned as he walks into their new kitchen. It's compact but neat, and it already feels like home.

This is everything he has ever dreamed of, and it is more.

"We've got sheets on the bed as well." Clarke tells him, proud, as she starts to show him around. "No more hurried closet hookups. I think we should -"

"That's our plant." He interrupts her, eyes on the small kitchen table, where a certain succulent sits proudly.

She grins affectionately. "That's our plant." She agrees. "I had to put it in pride of place, didn't I? Something to remind us what we've been through together to get here."

He kisses her for that. It's not a particularly long or sexual kiss, he just thinks that kissing is the best way to convey the combination of care and affection he feels when he hears her talk like that.

"I should find Niylah." He says conversationally.

Clarke frowns, confused. Of course she does. She wasn't there, back at the beginning, when he made a foolish sentimental choice that turned out to be the wisest thing he's ever done.

"Niylah?"

"Yeah. I owe her a shift in the shop. That's how I paid for the plant in the first place."

There's a beat of silence.

And then Clarke giggles, a bright, happy sound. "Find her tomorrow, Bellamy. It's waited five years. I'm sure it'll wait for the morning."

He nods. She's right. He carries on looking around their new home, curious about the small stove and the sketches of Clarke's that already line the walls.

Clarke has other ideas, though.

"We're going to bed." She informs him firmly.

"It's barely supper time."

"We've got a private bedroom for the first time in our entire relationship." She lowers her voice, smirks at him slightly. "And it's a double. Space to try a few new things."

He grins. She's right. Duty can wait. Obligation and good sense and debts owed to friends and to the human race are all things that can be postponed till the morning. But right now, it's time to think with his heart. And his heart is telling him to take Clarke to bed.

Bellamy knows he's sentimental, easily swayed by his emotions. It may have taken five years for him to figure it out, but he understands now – there's nothing foolish about that.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading!


End file.
